


Reuniting the Wolf Pack

by fandomfiend



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Blackwater AU, F/M, Reunion, Slow Build, Stark Sisters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-11
Updated: 2014-01-13
Packaged: 2018-01-08 09:40:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1131094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fandomfiend/pseuds/fandomfiend
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sansa decides to go with the Hound as he leaves the city. On their road to the north, they run into a few familiar faces.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Leaving the City

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fan-fiction, but I thought my first try should be with some of my favorite characters. The rating may change, but as of now it's rated T for *gasp* swearing. I don't own any of these characters or locations, they belong to George R R Martin.

An eerie, green light flickered outside Sansa's window, as she snuck through her door, shutting it quietly. The fire in her hearth was burned out, only ashes left, but it still smelled of smoke. Turning her head towards the window, she realized from where the scent was coming. It was an acrid smell, of burning wood and burning men that wafted through her window. A smell of war and death.

The only thought running through her mind was the hope that Joffrey might suffer death, but that brought along the fear of what would happen to her. She was no longer safe in Kings Landing after tonight, but had she ever been?

A crash and a grunt abruptly interrupted her reverie. A startled gasp escaped her lips as she whirled her head around to face the intruder. She squinted her eyes in the darkness but could see nothing but her bed and her table which were close enough to be faintly illuminated in the green light. The rest of her chamber was shrouded in darkness.

 "You should probably lock your doors, little bird." A gruff voice slurred, as a mountainous figure materialised out of the darkness. "Y' got no idea what you might let in."

As the Hound approached, Sansa noticed the crazed look in his eyes; anger and another emotion she could not quite name in her current state of panic. When he stopped, mere inches from her face, the sour smell of alcohol enveloped her in a cloud.  The Hound was always kind to her, but he frightened her nonetheless. And even the most noble men were known to act in unseemly ways when their heads were clouded with drink. And the Hound was not a noble man. He had once told her he enjoyed killing, and that thought frightened her.

Sansa attempted to step back, but the window was directly behind her.

"Quite a mess those shits have gotten themselves in, wouldn't you say?" chuckled the Hound. "Glad I'll be rid of 'em soon." The green light danced on his face, casting his scars into terrible relief.

When he turned his head away from the fire, he affectively hid his scars and Sansa was able to pinpoint what she had first missed. In this light, without his terrifying scars, the Hound look fearful. He looked like a scared little boy.

"I'm sorry, ser. I'm not quite sure what you mean by that," Sansa said calmly. "I'm sure you will fight gallantly and win against Stannis, the traitor."

She could not be sure if this was a trick to give Joffrey another excuse to punish her; she had learned through experience that  courtesies were always the safest route.

"Damn your courtesies, little bird! I'm a deserter now," shouted the Hound, inches from her face. "It's the fire, gods be damned. I can't get near the fire, so I have to leave this city."

He trailed off, walking to the dark corner from whence he'd come. Sansa heard the clink of a mug and the gulping of the Hound taking a swig of the strongwine he had been drinking earlier, no doubt.

Sansa approached the Hound, quiet as a mouse. She found him slumped in a chair in the far corner of her sleeping chambers. In the faint light from the burning city below, he almost looked a man and not a monster. She found she did not fear the man.

As the war raged on outside her window, Sansa found comfort in one of her songs, a favorite of hers since she was a child. As she sang of the seven gods, she noticed the Hound staring at her in a peculiar way. Not in an unkind or gruff manner, not the way a man looks at a woman, but his look was, even, almost peaceful. Although she still found his scars hideous and terrible to look upon, she would look upon them anyway, for now she believed she could gentle them. Maybe not the scars on his skin, but perhaps she could gentle the scars on his soul.

When she sang of the Mother, she silently pleaded with her to gentle his rage and calm his heart, but she never finished the verse. A terrible cry coming from outside her window broke their reverie.

"I'm sorry, but I must know-"

"Save your courtesies! We haven't the time." Sandor whispered harshly. He was collecting things-her things-and putting them in a bag she had not noticed earlier.

"If you are a deserter, why are you here? Why haven't you left the city?" Sansa asked from her place by the chair Sandor had just recently vacated. His frantic packing stopped immediately and he turned to stare at her incredulously.

It was quite obvious now that she thought about it, being a deserter on one side of the war could mean being a saviour on the other. He meant to sell her to her brother in hopes of winning his favor, because he had no where else to go.

She stared at him, pondering whether to allow him to take her willingly or if she would fight him. For a man who smelled as if he had been living  in a wineskin for a fortnight, he was surprisingly sharp and deft. He could keep me safe, she thought.

"You do want to see your family again, don't you?" he snapped as he through some of her sturdier, northern clothing in his bag. "Because that's where I'd take you."

At this he turned to stare at her again. He looked as though he was warring with himself, trying to hide his fear and irritation, trying not to scare her. His face was a mask, but Sansa could detect all this underneath it. It was a skill she learned well during all her time at court. She weighed the consequences of each decision as quickly as she was capable with him staring at her.

If she went with him, she would see her family again, and the north again, something she dreamed of for a long time. The thing that held her back from answering right away, were the dangers. What if they were captured on the road? What if the Hound turned on her? What if, gods forbid, Robb lost?

He noticed her hesitation and he was within inches of her before she blinked. She could smell the wine on him again as he leaned in closer.

"This is a one time offer, little bird. Getting out of this city is never going to be as easy as it is right now. It might be your only chance of escaping that sack of shit everyone calls King," he snarled.

Although she was frightened, of the Hound, of the dangers of leaving, she knew there was only one answer she could give and not regret.

She steeled her nerve and met his eyes, even when a flash of light illuminated his scars, she didn't flinch away. They were no longer as frightening as they once were.

"I would appreciate my own horse for the journey, if it's not too much to ask. Your horse frightens me."


	2. A Not So Easy Escape

"Hurry up and keep quiet, we can't leave the city if we're caught," Sansa heard Sandor whisper to her.

The halls of the Keep were empty, the women were hidden away at the banquet with queen Cersei and the men were fighting off Stannis Baratheon and his army on the Blackwater. The ones who stayed behind in the castle were hiding in their quarters, no doubt. They snuck along through the shadows towards the stable where Stranger was kept, keeping to the shadows just in case someone was roaming the halls.

As Sandor rounded a corner a few feet in front of her, Sansa heard a noise to her left and stopped in the small alcove in which she was hidden. Looking around for the source of the sound, she breathed a sigh of relief when she found the source. A skinny, hound dog was making its way through the corridor carrying a small bone.

Sansa rounded the corner and trotted on her toes to catch up with her escort. "Excuse me ser, but how are we going to leave the city once we find the horses? Are the gates not guarded?"

He did not answer until they reached the stables, whether being cautious not to be overheard or because he had yet to figure out a plan, she did not know. "We'll go through the Iron Gate. It's not in great shape and it's far from Stannis' forces. If it is guarded, I can deal with them," he explained as he prepared Stranger for their journey.

The stables were mostly empty except Stranger, who was left behind due to his tendency to violently resist any rider but Sandor, and a blue roan mare. She was far too small to support a grown man in armor and her young age made her slightly skittish. Sansa immediately fell in love with her beautiful coat and her kind eyes. As Sandor saddled and bridled her, Sansa was able to calm her enough to mount. The young mare reminded Sansa of Lady, and she felt an instant connection with her. Ivy was the name she finally decided on and when she whispered it to her while Sandor was mounting Stranger, she felt that her horse approved.

"Put this on," Sandor said as he tossed a hooded cloak to her. "I'd like to make it through the gate without you getting recognized and that hair is unmistakable."

Sansa slipped the cloak on and pulled the hood over her head, hiding her hair. They made their way through the almost empty streets of King's Landing towards the gate. The few people the pair came across were carrying bags packed full of their belongings and were headed towards the kingsroad. Whether they thought they would be able to leave the city or they were hoping the gate would be left unguarded, Sansa did not know. But she wished she could help them, and she prayed to the Seven to protect them.

As they approached the gate, it seemed empty and unguarded, but it was shut tight. Sandor cursed under his breath. Sansa did not understand what had upset him so until he turned to her and said, "The gates are guarded, we're just going to have to hope word has not reached them of my desertion."

"Keep your head low and do exactly as I say. Do you understand, little bird? Can you keep your chirping under control?" he growled. His frustation was tangible as he tugged at his lank, soot-stained hair.

He nudged his horse forward and Sansa followed. She still did not see the guards, but she trusted Sandor and knew that he was more familiar with this than she. When they were within twenty feet of the gate, an unfamilliar voice called down from the wall.

"Oi! What's your business here? Don't you know the city's under attack? We're under orders not to open the gates," the gold cloak shouted at the pair. Sansa did not look up for fear of revealing herself and angering Sandor, who already seemed angry at their new hurtle. She could feel the rage coming off him in waves and Stranger seemed to sense it as well. His hooves stamped the ground and stirred dust into the air.

Sansa leaned down to calm her mare, whispering soothing words into her ear as Sandor shouted back at the gold cloak, "It's king's business, not yours. Now, could you open this blasted gate or am I to come up and open it myself?"

For a few seconds, the only thing Sansa could hear was laughter from the wall, and the restless stamping of Stranger's hooves on the cobbles. "Well, if it isn't the king's dog? What an honor, eh!" he shouted down from the wall. "And who's that lass you got with you? She pretty?"

Sansa froze, her heart pounding in her chest as she waited for Sandor's answer. Sandor answered within a matter of seconds.

"Fuck off! I said it's king's business, now open the damn gate."

The silence that followed lasted only seconds, but it felt like years. Sansa clutched Ivy's mane and she nickered nervously, while Stranger threw his head back and whinnied.

The clink of the chain and the groan as the gate opened, allowing the pair through was such a relief that Sansa lifted her head up in elation and to silently thank the Seven.

The movement must have disturbed the hood of her cloak, because as she moved her hood fell off, exposing her hair. The torch the gold cloak was holding flashed in her coppery, Tully hair and she reflexively yanked the hood back over her head. But it was too late.

"She ain't supposed to be leavin'! What kind of game ya playin' at?" the guard shouted.

Sansa heard a commotion in the guard tower and the gate began to close as three or four spare archers exited the tower. She looked to Sandor for guidance and she met his eyes. They were seething with rage and she knew it was directed towards her, that this was all her fault.

"Run!" he shouted and they sprinted out the gate.


	3. The Beginning of a Journey

As the two companions road hard into the night, the green light of Blackwater Bay disappeared on the horizon. After several minutes of riding straight out, the pair took a sharp right towards what Sansa assumed was the kingsroad. Without the lights from the city and the bay, the night was black.

During childhood, Sansa had not spent as much time as her siblings riding. She preferred her songs, stories, and sewing to spending a lot of time out of doors. There were times, on occasion, that Sansa enjoyed a ride with her siblings, but only casually. She had certainly never ridden like this.

After several more minutes of hard riding, Sansa could no longer keep up. "Sorry, but could we slow down?" Sansa shouted over the howling wind and pounding hooves."I don't think I can keep up this pace any longer."

Sandor looked behind them and whatever he saw or didn't see must have comforted him, because he looked over at Sansa, nodded, and began to slow his pace. The slower pace allowed for easier conversation, but Sansa did not know what to say. She could thank him for rescuing her, but that may anger him. She knew she should try to start a polite conversation with him, at least that is what her septa would have told her to do, but she knew that would just cause more tension. He hated her courtesies. Instead, she settled for an apology.

"I'm sorry I revealed myself," she started, speaking to his back. "I was careless when I learned we were safe and it is my fault if they come after us." She ended her apology with a crack in her voice as she began to cry, silently.

"Aye, it was careless of you," Sandor said, his voice hard. "But it is not your fault if they come after us, they would have done that anyway."

Sansa wiped her eyes, composing herself. She looked curiously at him, for his answer confused her. "For true?" she asked, cocking her head. He nodded and it was several moments before he spoke again. During this time, Sansa wondered if, perhaps, the drink had finally reached his head and he had fallen asleep atop his horse. It was late, after all. It was late when he had come to her and how long had passed since then? It could not have been more than an hour, perhaps two? She had been a captive in King's Landing no more than two hours before and now she was free and heading north, to her family. The thought brought a smile to her face.

Sandor's gruff voice interrupted her thoughts, "We can't stop for the night. We don't need to ride hard, but we must continue on. While your reveal did not change much, it changed our timeline slightly."

The idea of riding through the night made a shiver pass through her body. The hard ride had already made her bottom terribly sore, and she was not sure she could ride through the night. Angering him again was not something that she wanted to do because she'd seen his anger several times that night. And it frightened her much more than the scars on his face. Sandor had been kind to her, but the Hound was cruel, and she did not want to wake him.

She decided not to say anything, they would have to stop eventually; not even Sandor could ride forever. Distracting herself was her only option. They were riding through an open field, near a wooded area in case they needed to hide in the cover of the trees. She did not know if a conversation would be the best distraction, but she decided to try.

"Are we going to reach the kingsroad, soon?" Sansa asked as she dodged another sharp depression in the ground.

Sandor looked back at her, the unscarred side of his face to her. Without his scars, he could almost be handsome. He was large and strong, with sharp cheekbones. He'd saved her, even though he would object to that notion, and he had always been kind to her. The man also had his own sense of honor, not a knight's which she had learned during her time in King's Landing meant nothing, but a true honor and loyalty.

"We aren't going to the kingsroad, little bird," Sandor said. "It's too risky. Our path is going to be harder, but safer if we play our cards right."

On the path they were taking now, Sansa did not understand how anyone could ever find them, or how they could ever find her home. There was nothing to be seen in any direction but hills, fields, and southern trees. The stars were beginning to fade as the sky lightened and Sansa wondered how long they had been riding and how late it had truly been when they left. "Why do you call me that?" Sansa mumbled sleepily. "My name is Sansa. I'm not the same girl I was when I came to King's Landing."

Sandor slowed down, so Stranger was keeping pace with her mare. "Same reason you call me Hound," Sandor said. "It's what I am. I'll stop calling you little bird when you stop chirping your courtesies."

"I don't call you Hound," Sansa muttered into Ivy's mane. "I call you Sandor."

And Sansa drifted to sleep as the sun peeked over the horizon.


	4. Dire News

Sansa awoke around midday, at least what she assumed was midday. The sun she could see was speckled on the rough path they were traveling, but most of it was blocked by the canopy of leaves above their heads. Sometime during her slumber, Sandor must have connected their horses because a rope was strung between Ivy and Stranger and the latter was leading the former along the crude path.

They must have taken cover in the trees in order to lessen their chances of being seen in daylight. She had no idea where they were or in what direction they were heading, but Sandor seemed confident in their progress. His head was up and he was looking straight forward, if his shoulders slumped at all, it was only from exhaustion. He must not have slept or rested during their travel.

As she became more aware of herself, she sat up in her saddle and immediately regretted her decision. If she thought she was sore before, she was quite wrong. Her lower back and thighs were in agony and she could not hold back the groan that escaped her lips upon straightening.

Sandor pulled up on the reins immediately, startled by the sound, and looked back to see what was wrong. "I'm sorry," Sansa murmured through gritted teeth. "I just didn't expect the pain. I've never ridden for such a length of time."

At this, Sandor grunted and dismounted Stranger, loosely hobbling him on a low hanging tree branch. He made his way over to Sansa and stopped when he reached her. With his great height, Sansa was able to meet his eyes without moving her head; he was irritated, but attempting to hide it.

"This is going to hurt," he warned her before he stuck his hands under her arms and lifted her from the saddle and set her down on the ground. Sansa's knees instantly buckled and she tried to support herself on Sandor's arm, but she missed and fell to the ground.

Sandor huffed out a breath and reached down to pick her up, supporting her knees and upper back. "I did warn you, little bird. Getting off's the worst part if you're not accustomed to riding," he said, kinder than before, but still with a hint of irritation in his voice. He carried her through the trees until he reached a small clearing, large enough for them and both their horses. Once she was seated comfortably against a tree, Sandor went to retrieve their bags and the horses.

In his absence, Sansa was left alone with her thoughts. After her mind's rest, however brief, they were clearer and more logical. Where was Sandor to take her? Her mother and brother were in Riverrun, fighting a war. That was no place for her; Sansa's place was in Winterfell. She left a child, dreaming of the south, and discovered only nightmares.

She only dreamed of home, in Winterfell now. Her happiest memories were behind those walls, and that is where she wished to return and that is what she would tell Sandor. Taking her to Riverrun would guarantee a reward, protection in Robb's army, gold, but she had been in the south long enough. She would go home to the people who were familiar to her. Bran and Rickon, Maester Luwin, maybe even Jon could visit them. She no longer cared that he was bastard born, Arya had loved him. And she missed her sister so very much and she hoped that she could find some of Arya in him.

The snap of a twig drew Sansa's attention to the tree line. Sandor led the two horses into the clearing, carrying all their gear. 

"How're your legs?" he asked, setting a bedroll on the forest floor.

"The soreness is a bit better, but I think they might blister," Sansa said. "I'm sorry I'm slowing us down, I just am not accustomed to such distances on a horse."

The irritation was plain on Sandor's face as he wet a few strips of cloth in wine and handed them to her. "Stop apologizing. It's not your fault, I should have considered your delicateness," despite the sarcastic sounding phrase, his voice was sincere. "Wrap those around the blisters while I fetch some firewood."

"Thank you ser," Sansa murmured. She would not broach the subject now, she would wait until they settled in for the evening.

After Sandor left the clearing, she lifted her dress to inspect the damage. The previously unmarred skin of her inner thighs was pink and rubbed raw in several places, but it wasn't as serious as she expected. She carefully wrapped the wine soaked rags around her thighs and bound them loosely with a clean rag. The burning sensation was unpleasant, but it would help prevent infection.

Gingerly, she stood and began rummaging through their supplies; dried meat, a block of cheese, some stale bread, made up their food stock. She supposed Sandor could hunt for fresh meat or find fish once they reached the Riverlands. As a child, Maester Luwin taught her the edible plants and Sandor spent much time traveling.

By the time Sandor returned with a rabbit and some firewood, the sun was on its way down and Sansa had finished surveying their supplies. She determined that she was correct in her assumption that Sandor did not intend to take her to Winterfell, but to her mother and brother. Their was not enough food to last the two of them the time it would take to reach Winterfell, but it would be just enough to travel the distance to Riverrun.

As Sandor set up the fire, Sansa worked up the nerve to voice her request. "What are you worrying over girl?" Sandor asked as he skinned the rabbit in several swift motions. "You don't have to phrase things so carefully out here, little bird. No one's listening but an old dog."

Sansa looked up from her lap, catching him looking at her. He was always watching, observing his surroundings, and his talent at reading people amazed her. "I-I was just wondering," she started, her voice growing more confident as she continued. Steeling her voice, she looked him in the eye and finished, "I want you to take me to Winterfell."

The tone of her voice must have surprised him. His eyes widened and he waited several seconds before he answered her, putting the cleaned rabbit on the spit. The fire was crackling from he dripping fat of the rabbit, and the sparks danced in his eyes as she watched him. He looked sad.

"Ah," he murmured. "So no one told you about that."

Her breath caught in her throat at his words. Told her about what? she thought. She knew the court kept her in the dark, but she assumed that any bad news would be rubbed in her face by Joffrey. He enjoyed her misery so.

Sandor must have noticed her state of panic, for he continued, "Theon Greyjoy took Winterfell, not a fortnight past," he took a deep breath and looked back at the fire. "Word came a few days ago that he killed the young Starks, hanged 'em and burned their bodies."

She could not breathe. "I would know," she murmured. As she continued, she grew closer and closer to hysterics, "I would know! Just last night, I dreamed of them safe in the crypts of Winterfell with their direwolves and Hodor."

"We ride for Winterfell," was the last thing she heard herself say before she lost consciousness.


	5. A (Rather Large) Bump in the Road

Sansa did not speak for almost a week after that. The pair remained in the clearing for several days to allow Sansa's saddle sores to heal. When she decided her thighs were sufficiently healed, Sandor awoke to Ivy saddled and packed, and Sansa in the clothes most suitable for riding. She waited patiently as Sandor prepared Stranger for their journey. 

When they exited the trees, the rising sun was to Sansa's right shoulder. They were heading north.

During the day, they rode at an steady pace, stopping occasionally to fill their water skins in a stream or to catch a fish or two for the night's supper. They were in the Riverlands now, so streams were abundant.

At night, they silently ate what they had and sat by the small fire Sandor allowed them. The warmth of summer was slowly leaving Westeros, but the fire fought away some of the chill.

Many a night, Sansa sat awake, tossing and turning. She relished the few hours a night she spent in the bliss of sleep. Her dreams brought her the most joy, flying over the Riverlands as an owl, she supposed because of her keen eyes in the dark. Spying prey and catching it in her talons; she felt so powerful in those dreams.

One night, her sister appears in her bird dream. As Sansa flies over a castle with walls melting like ice, Arya approaches a man near the gate as two boys hide behind a wall. The man bends down to pick up the coin, a strange thing, and Arya slices his throat. The glint in her eyes frightens Sansa, but she sees pain there, and grief. The dreams stop for a while after that.

xxx

It is an hour past sun down when Sansa speaks again, her voice cracking slightly from underuse. "I was thinking," she started looking at Sandor's back across the fire. "That perhaps-"

The crack of a twig was the only warning as a knife was pressed against her throat. And unfamiliar, gruff voice leaned in close to her ear and she could smell putrid meat. His breath came in odd hissing noises, "Make one sound and I'll slit your pretty little throat."

She realized her mistake as soon as she glanced back at Sandor. They'd come across a wagon, crashed and burned on the side of a hill. Most of the supplies were destroyed, but there were several wine skins that looked practically untouched.  
Sansa did not care for wine, especially of unknown origin on a hill in the middle of nowhere, but wine was wine to Sandor. And he had drunk his fill.

Was it poisoned or was he just unconscious from the wine? Was he dead? Had they killed him?

She saw the glint of the blade reflecting on the ground before she felt its sting, unconsciousness came seconds later. The last thing she saw was Sandor stirring in his sleep, as a bag was pulled over her head.

xxx

In her dreams, she flew over Winterfell. These were not like her others, for she had never ventured this far north before. they were not like her dreams of home either. In those dreams, Winterfell did not stand in ruin. It did not smolder as smoke as black as a raven rose into the sky.

She tried to fly away from the ruins she once called home, but she found she could not control her body.

She circled the wreckage, over and over until she spotted something in the newly fallen snow, tracks. A large pair of boots, another smaller pair, and the last smaller still made them. The outline and meaning was distinct to her keen, avian eyes. The tracks that most drew her attention were those of a large wolf. They were much too large to be anything but a direwolf. And there were two.

In this dream, she spent more time than she ever had. She flew over fields and homes, further and further north and yet she could not find the things for which she was searching.

Her wings grew tired, it was harder and harder to keep her body aloft. The cold wind bit at her wings, pushing her off course. She was a summer bird, not accustomed to the harsh winds of winter. She took shelter in a tree, and closed her eyes, and her dream changed.

The keen eyes of an eagle opened. Swift and strong and resistant against the cold. Winter would come, and she would be ready.

xxx

When Sansa regained consciousness, she could feel the confines of her body more acutely than before. Her shoulder was sore and she felt as though she had not moved in an age, her head ached, and her wrists were chaffed where they were bound tightly behind her back. She had no idea how long she was asleep, but it was no mid-afternoon nap. Sansa considered screaming for help, but her mouth was stuffed with cloth and tied tightly behind her head. The dampness of the cloth indicated to her that her captors had dripped water in her mouth not long before she regained consciousness, or that she had not been unconscious long. The pain in her side indicated the former.

She pushed herself into a sitting position and attempted to stand, but her foot was asleep and she could not manage it. The room she was being kept in was small with a dirt floor and wooden walls. In the dark, it was easy to find the door. A light was shining through the crack under the door and as she scooted closer, she heard raucous laughter, and the sound of clinking mugs.

"I must be in an inn of some sort," Sansa thought to herself as she saw a pair of shadows dance past under the door.

Her suspicions were confirmed when the beginnings of The Bear and the Maiden Fair made its way to her ear. It was not one of her personal favorites, but she had heard it at many a feast and it reminded her of home. A crack in the slats of the door offered just enough room for Sansa to see a sliver of the room.

As she scanned the tables, a terrifying man came into view. He was a short man, with dark hair and eyes that sparkled with malice, but the most terrifying thing about his face was his nose, or his lack of one. Where his nose should have been, two holes were in its place, as though someone had sliced it off at the root. The man next to him had teeth filed to points that showed when he laughed at the young serving wench who tripped over his boot.

She watched the noseless man for several minutes as he ate and drank his fill, but when he got up to retire, something else caught her eye. Under his arm, he carried Sandor's helm.

**Author's Note:**

> The purpose of this whole shebang is that I need Sansa and Arya to be reunited. I need it.


End file.
